


Bruises

by Antigone_Sycamore



Series: I who dreamed wildly and madly [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x3, Brienne is the Best, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Missing Scene, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post battle of Winterfell, Season 8, still love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 18:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Sycamore/pseuds/Antigone_Sycamore
Summary: Jaime cares for Brienne post battle.





	Bruises

> _When the turf strangers are heaping_  
>  covers my breast  
>  Come not to gaze on me weeping  
>  I am at rest
> 
> _E.G.W. &N._

 

 

She grits her teeth against the pain to keep from crying out. Angry tears are burning hot at the back of her eyes. Her throat feels like sandpaper. 

Winterfell has fallen eerily silent in the early morning hours after the battle. Survivors and wounded soldiers seeking shelter from the cold and the snow in the great hall. People looking for dry cloth and warmth amidst the dead bodies of the wights. Barely a word is spoken. 

Brienne would have preferred to do this alone. Lick her wounds in private. Assess the damage her tiered body has taken. But Podrick and Ser Jaime have not left her side since the wights have crumbled into a lifeless heap of limbs and bones. 

Brienne cannot feel her fingers as she sinks to the ground. Exhaustion and the cold have rendered her tiered body numb in some places. And yet pain is all she feels in others. Being a fighter for all of her life, Brienne has had her share of broken bones and torn skin. The pain is oddly familiar. A reminder of the time that has been given to her. Many others have not been so fortunate as to feel pain after tonight. 

She tugs at her armor with rigid fingers. Winces in the half-light between night and dawn against the soaring pain in her clavicle. Tries to remove the outer layer of her armor as carefully as possible without making too much of a fuss. She cannot remember the blow she has taken to her collarbone precisely but her fractured bones leave no questions to the force of the impact.

Brienne breaths through gritted teeth as she plugs the armor from her chest. Every movement sends a new wave of pain through her adrenaline drained body. 

She feels Jaime shift next to her. His gaze unfocused, almost apathic for hours after the battle, falls to her collar and she can see him swallow in the dim light. His green eyes are still wide and glazed over with the terror of having to fight for his life for hours on end. And yet she can almost see him push through it all. His crystal mind as focused on her as before the battle. 

He grunts when he moves, his own injuries yet unassessed and untreated as he kneels in front of her. He reaches out without hesitation. A certainty to his fingers that would be considered improper under any other circumstances. As if he’s touched her a thousand times already. As if he’s allowed to touch her. 

His remaining hand carefully removes the rest of her upper armor, piece by piece - the task at hand apparently a welcoming distraction to calm his mind. Jaime does not falter when he tugs at the laces of her tunic to take a better look at her injuries. His brows are drawn into a troubled frown when he runs his fingers along her collarbone. Brienne hisses yet again through gritted teeth at his touch. His cold fingers still at her collarbone, right above the already deep purple flesh. Feather-light winter-dry fingertips. The tenderness of his touch makes her heart clench. Brienne cannot move. The sensation foreign to her bruised skin. 

Jaime lifts his eyes to hers then. They are clear and unguarded. His concern unhidden right beneath the surface. There is nothing he can do to mend her broken bones. And yet his touch provides a comfort that is unexpected to her. 

“It’ll heal,” she tells him, voice only a hoarse whisper. A weak attempt to provide some comfort herself. 

Jaime nods slowly, his brows still drawn into a concerned frown. The hand on her collarbone moves up to her neck. He runs his fingers along the three white scars on the other side of her collarbone without hesitation. Her torn skin a testimony to one of his most selfless acts.

Brienne’s heart aches. The pain of it unfamiliar in contrast to her burning bruises and her torn flesh. It aches for his broken heart. It aches for his broken self. It aches for his broken history. It aches for his broken body. Winterfell is quite around them. Paralyzed in the white light of the rising winter sun. A moment beyond time that always seems borrowed. But today they’ll live.

She reaches out and tugs him closer by the breast plate of his armor. Jaime complies without resistance as his forehead comes to rest on her shoulder.


End file.
